


Brewer's Magic

by SunnyD_lite



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His girls are at college, what's Xander to do? <br/>"Normally we've a waiting list to barista here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brewer's Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: BtVS sn 4 (Post Fear, itself)  
> TamingtheMuse Prompt: 88 prompt "Haste makes speed"  
> A/N: No coffee was harmed in the writing of this fic – I'm off to a con today so posting early – if you spot any errors please let me know!

"You're lucky that the other applicants didn't show. Normally we've a waiting list to barista here."

Xander shook his head trying to focus on what the skinny red head was saying. He'd finished helping Giles sort his books and, if he and Anya were doing the dating thing, the money thing was becoming more of an issue.

"We at the Espresso Pump serve only fair trade coffee and each cup is a slice of excellence in the otherwise mundanity of our clients' lives." This stuff was just rolling off the guy's tongue, in fact better than any of the school plays and look, no flying monkeys.

"We'll start you with the afternoon shift. Once you've proven yourself there you'll alternate with the morning rush or close –both have their perils."

"Sing it, sister." That earned a glare. "Um, brother?" Another glare. "Why don't we just pretend I just nodded there?"

An eyeroll. That was a response he could live with. The next hour included the equivalent to an engineering degree in working the espresso machine with a minor in computer science for the cash. And the girls thought they had to pay for the fancy knowledge!

And his application for a job here had nothing to do with disappearing at the Halloween party last week. He'd always liked their cocoa, a good enough reason to work anywhere.

"We also have Italian sodas, they're easy enough. A shot"

Xander ducked.

Morris, that's what the shift supervisor's name was, Morris, glared.

"Sorry, too many cop shows on T.V. where shots are of the leaded kind, rather than full bodied with a hint of spice," he desperately read from the Kama Sumantra bag of beans now at eye level behind the counter.

"We suggest NOT sampling the coffee until after your shift. The jitters spill the product."

The training went down hill from there.

But he was scheduled for another training shift. After that one they'd determine if he was he could "Pump you up" and be hired for actual wages.

Hadn't Willow said something about freeing the slaves for one of the history classes? Didn't seem that the owners had heard about that emancipation call. But he had an almost job.

And a real demand for rent due in three weeks.

Forget a box of chocolates; life was the blend of the week. Sometimes worth it, but often bitter and leaving a dark stain. At least the uniform wasn't a neon color.

"What ARE you wearing?"

But no less humiliating when running into your girlfriend.

"And a good day to you to, Anya. Recovered from the bunn-" A hand was slapped across his mouth, but then it turned into a caress. You know this was feeling a little déjà vu-ing with Cordy.

"Ix-nay on the"

He reached up to pull her hand away, and if his fingers interlinked who was to mention it?

"Pig Latin? Centuries of the learnin' and you're using PIG LATIN? You're just proving that college is over-rated."

"Just don't say the B word. Or the R word. In fact let's not talk about it again and why are you wearing polyester? And are we holding hands?"

Pulling his hand back he reached for his banter. Bluntness. Remember he liked that. "All the better to melt when pouring hot liquids on it. Despite the number of workers' health signs, safety isn't first when it come to protecting the skin from coffee."

"Oh a job. Does this mean you'll have less time for sex?"

He wondered if bright red complimented or clashed with the browns and oranges of the uniform. Given his luck? Clashing all the way.

"Tomorrow is my second training shift. You could hang out and drink the orders I mess up." An audience? He'd invited an audience? Thought the talent show had burned out those inclinations.

"Free?"

And good bye ego. "Yes An, free."

"Will those other people be there? They don't like me much. You like me, isn't that enough?"

And that's the inverse of a familiar rhythm. Normally it's compliment then sucker punch. This was friend bashing and something like validation?

"Nope, just you." If he actually landed the job, he'd tell his girls.

Anya's face settled into a satisfied smirk. At least until she asked, "So, sex. Now?"

* *

His second shift went well enough. Anya did have a steady flow of mistakes, although her encouraging him to flub the red-eye was not winning friends and influencing managers.

He restocked the pastries, and learned the mind-numbing amount of paper work the act of cleaning the coffee makers required. Actually his military 'training' kicked in at the mention of triplicate so that part went smoothly.

Smooth enough that his next shift was the dreaded morning rush.

They started him on cash until the steamer exploded sending the two more experienced workers to the Emergency Room. He tried not to think about the fact it happened minutes after he'd said things were going peachy.

That left him and a promise of future help. Him, a promise, and thirty caffeine craving clients.

"Tall skinny dark with foam. Foam tall dark HANDSOME? Short sweet with a shot of "

And he still couldn't keep his Ethiopian and Kenyan straight. The Ethiopian went in the skinnys, right?

Time turned into a hyperactive blur, could the fumes get you high? And he had no idea what he'd actually done. But he'd fallen into some kind of a rhythm bobbing and weaving between the carafes, ducking the splashes of steaming milk, and randomly grabbing beans to fill the Audrey II like maw of the coffee brewers.

Help came at the end of the shift. When else? Later that day he got a call from the shift organizer screaming about lack of paper work and what happened to all the Coasta Rican beans? Can you get fired from a job you're not paid for?

But the next day everyone came back asking for the Stuart Special (that was the name tag he'd been given). The buzz kept them going for hours was the general consensus.

Only on a Hellmouth could haste make speed.


End file.
